


Mistakes Were Made: The (Babylonian) Story of the Flood

by eag



Series: Mistakes Were Made [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Agender Character, Akkadian Mythology, Ancient Egypt, Ancient History, Ancient Mesopotamia, Asmodeus (Good Omens) - Freeform, Babylonian Mythology - Freeform, Falling In Love, Feels, Food, Friendship, Gabriel (Good Omens) - Freeform, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Good Omens and the Babylonian Story of the Flood, Hastur (Good Omens) - Freeform, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Love, Michael (Good Omens) - Freeform, Nonbinary Character, Other, Post-Flood, Sandalphon (Good Omens) - Freeform, Scene: Flood in Mesopotamia 3004 BC (Good Omens), Slow Burn, Sumerian Mythology - Freeform, The slowest burn in history, Unrequited Love, a hundred year nap, a worldwide miracle spree, an angel and a demon running away, and a little biblical literature mixed in with the Babylonian, fingers totally touched, graphic heterodoxy and heresy, intense hand holding, it's their first song, lots of period appropriate clothing, music of the ancient world, oh and beelzebub has a pretty big role in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-20 11:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: A hundred years after the end of the Flood, Aziraphale runs into Crowley (or rather, Crawley) at a banquet in Abydos.Flashbacks to the Flood and that time an angel and a demon ran away for a year minus a day.  Aziraphale and Crowley had better return on time to stand in the delegations of Heaven and Hell that meet in the aftermath of the Flood.Of course, mistakes were made...





	1. Abydos, 2903 B.C.

**Abydos, 2903 B.C.**

Aziraphale looked up. Someone had come in late to the banquet, and was heading to the corner where the angel sat with the other women, on woven reed mats carefully pieced over the floor in a mosaic of interlaced rushes.

Music filled the air along with the rhythmic rattle of the dancer's beads as they swayed. Aziraphale did not get a good look at the newcomer, who was obscured by the crowds. The stranger passed through groups of musicians and dancers, some naked, others wearing only the most sheerest of gossamer gowns, and sidestepped the throngs of feast-goers.

Aziraphale shrugged. Turning back to the slice of roast goose with its crackling skin, hot fat soaking into a triangular piece of bread, the angel didn't notice when the newest arrival sat down on the same reed mat as Aziraphale, just to the left, the last remaining available seat.

The newcomer was greeted by the other women and but said little, no more than what it took to be polite.

The angel glanced up from under heavily kohled eyes, brushing aside the edge of a heavy flaxen wig to catch a glimpse of the newcomer. Immediately Aziraphale looked again, surprised. 

Deep blue-black lotuses adorned burnished dark copper tresses that had been carefully braided, and the slim figure who had sat down beside the angel was wearing a broad collar of polished black serpentinite and carnelian beads. The fine linen gown seemed to have a grayish cast, not so much as to stand out dramatically from the humans, but it was different enough to catch Aziraphale's eye, almost black compared to the pure white linen of Aziraphale's own gown.

“Oh, it's you.” Aziraphale managed a smile, and then managed it harder. Aziraphale's hand moved to adjust the heavy collar of shell, alabaster, and electrum beads that the angel liked to wear to these things, and then touch to the sharp quartzite knife that had been belted to one leg beneath the angel's linen gown. 

Crawley nodded in acknowledgment, polite and gracious.

“What brings you here?”

Crawley was about to speak when a servant brought around shallow clay platters of butter and cheese and more bread, which Crawley passed onto Aziraphale without a second glance.

Aziraphale scooped up some soft new cheese with a fresh piece of bread. “If you're here to do a tempting, you're far too late; I've already blessed this celebration. The most you could do is cancel it out, but everyone's having such a good time that it wouldn't be kind. Look at all the good food and drink! And they're supposed to have a harper later. Can you believe it?”

Crawley shrugged. 

“You wouldn't want to ruin these nice people's party, would you? Well, that's right, you should be ashamed of yourself, coming in here like...like ants at a picnic.”

Crawley stared intently, but it didn't seem as it was at anything in particular. Aziraphale looked around, wondering what Crawley was looking at. The heir of the Fighting Catfish, He of the Sedge and Bee, who had now finally reigned longer than his father, was seated beside his consort upon elaborately carved chairs. Beneath one chair, a cat nibbled at at a purloined fish. All around the great house, the noble guests of honor ate and chatted in their low-backed chairs, and the great administrators and retainers of the land connived and contrived from their stools. In between the musicians, the dancers, and partygoers, the tables were groaning with all manner of good things to eat and servants moved quickly carrying jars of beer and platters of food. Aziraphale saw all the things that Crawley seemed to be looking at but was not seeing.

“Well, nothing to say after being thwarted? You know, you might as well give up. After all, good will always triumph over Hell's wiles, no matter how much evil...say, Crawley. Are you all right?”

Crawley shrugged, hardly a movement of the shoulder, making a noncommittal sound. Aziraphale was about to say something more, but then a servant brought around a basket of ripe, fresh figs. This time Crawley took one but didn't eat it, merely pressing it to lips and nose in a way that only seemed to breathe in the scent of the fruit without breaking the tender bruised skin. It almost seemed as if Crawley had forgotten how to eat.

Crawley's eyes seemed troubled, distant, and Aziraphale felt a pang of guilt.

“Look, I've thwarted you before in the past, there's no reason to sulk like this. Come on, cheer up Crawley, maybe you'll get me next time, right? Just come a bit earlier and you'll get a fighting chance; I mean, you won't because you're evil and- Oh no, I missed the figs while we were talking...”

Crawley said nothing, handed the fig to Aziraphale, and stood up, walking out.


	2. The Song of the Harper

“Wait, Crawley!” 

Crawley did not look back, but did stop, having taken a wrong turn and walked into an enclosed courtyard with high walls planted with tall trees. Crawley's shoulders fell; the demon heaved a sigh. Shading eyes from the hot afternoon sun, the demon set one foot onto a slab of worked stone, and Aziraphale recognized the pose for what it was; the moment before an angel would take flight.

Sure enough, black wings burst forth from Crawley's shoulders, and Aziraphale gestured with a sharp motion, obscuring them from human eyes.

“Please, Crawley!” Aziraphale pulled off the heavy flax wig, tossing it down to reveal short-cropped electrum-colored hair. “You can't just go...flying off in the middle of a human habitation. Not without concealing yourself first. There are rules, you know.”

Crawley sneered with a mocking motion before turning away from the angel, muscles poised for flight.

“If something's wrong. I'll listen? I mean, I want to...I really I do want to. Listen, that is.” But Aziraphale could not say 'help'.

Crawley rubbed at tired eyes, smudging the thick lines of kohl that framed a serpent's slitted eyes. Slender hands ran through lustrous dark hair, impatiently untangling braids. Lotuses fell to the ground like rain. The cone of perfume that had been tied at the top of the head was tossed down, and it cracked into two as when it hit the hot sun-parched ground, staining the air with the scent of myrrh and roses.

“Where have you been, Crawley? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you since...”

“Yesterday. We just spoke yesterday. Did it mean so little to you?” Crawley hissed. “Don't you dare tell me that you don't remember the Flood.”

“Yesterday?” Aziraphale stared. “But I haven't-”

“Every living being returned to clay. Taken by slaver Death, bound and force-marched down the road whose journey has no return, captives of the House of Darkness. Even the kids. Just clay and the receding waters, corpses bloated and decaying, a celebration for worms and flies. Oh! And the worms and the flies...dining, banqueting, outnumbering all the peoples of the earth, swarming thicker than rain clouds. And the stench...the destruction. A thousand thousand struggles and triumphs, works and striving, everything, absolutely all of it gone to waste and ruin, leaving only rot...” Crawley's expression was hard and impassive, each word cold and clear.

“Crawley.” Aziraphale gasped. “That was a hundred years ago. What have you been doing? I didn't think it was possible to go so long without seeing you. Where have you been?”

“Where have I been? I think I was asleep.” Crawley blinked. “I must have been asleep. Flew first, as far as I could go. Then walked and walked. Got tired. Put my head down in the desert by the early grass. And then. Then next thing I know, fire came out of a crack in the ground and woke me. Said I should come here. That was this morning. Where have _you_ been?”

“Heaven,” Aziraphale said, brightening up. “After the Flood, I was recalled for six months of ideological training. Took a bit longer than was planned, about seven years, but now I understand everything. They made it all perfectly clear to me why the Flood was necessary, to cleanse the world of the wars of men. Well, that part of the world. I have felt so much better ever since, knowing that this is all part of the Great Plan-”

“Necessary?” Crawley laughed, bitter. “Thousands of innocent lives, washed away as easily as sweeping the dust off the floor, and your side calls it necessary? Even my side wouldn't dare to presume that much. Everyone had mothers and fathers you know. Everyone was a a baby once. A child. Some of them were still babies and children. They had hopes. Dreams. Friends. Lovers. They had a future. They were living breathing beings, not just...animated clay or numbers on a celestial tally stick, pawns in an ineffable plan.”

“Don't you think I know that? I care about them too!” Aziraphale cried. “But the humans had been doing an awful lot of war, and that's why Heaven had to-”

“Yes, they were wicked and warring, but they could have been more. If only we had let them.”

“And what about all the smiting and taking captives and making people into slaves and...”

“And who gave them the sword to do it with? The sword of War. Whose sword was that? _Whose flaming sword was that?_ ”

“Well, you needn't raise your voice at me,” Aziraphale said crossly, looking down, staring at the ground.

“Sorry.” Crawley said despite not feeling contrition. “But that's your sword, isn't it? Why didn't you get it back? Before it got this bad, before the Almighty was moved to destruction. Why didn't you at least pretend to care about this?”

“I tried! And I can't?” Stunned, Aziraphale blurted out the truth that had been festering inside for over a thousand years. “I tried. Really I did. I still do sometimes. So many times since we left the Garden. I thought it would be all right if they had it just for a little bit until they could get on their feet since she was expecting and all and it turned into a huge mess and...and you have to believe me Crawley; I just can't get it back. It's not mine anymore. Maybe it never was.”

Stunned, Crawley found the anger dispersing, replaced by a bone-deep fatigue.

“Right. Well then. It's been fun,” Crawley said, not meaning a word of it. “I've been good. Bad...I mean, I've been obedient. To Hell's will. I came here like I was told. Should be going now. Things to do, you know. Preferably not near you.”

“Please, don't go.”

“Why not?”

“I...I don't know.” Aziraphale said. “Maybe it's that I just hoped that you would-”

But then the sound of a harp interrupted them, and they both turned to look.

An old harper was tuning his harp under the deep shade of a tree, protected from the hot afternoon sun. It was obvious that he thought he was alone; he swayed and tapped his foot cheerfully as if to a song that only he could hear as he tuned his harp, long dexterous fingers moving lovingly over burnished wood and gut strings.

After the strings were tuned, the harper settled down and began to play, eyes closed, practicing his piece in a solitude shared only by both an angel and a demon. He sang in that full-throated way that a person can only sing when they know they are alone and have no one else to hear but themselves. There was no worry nor hesitation in his voice, in his fingers; it was the natural performance of someone playing for their own pleasure, for their own enjoyment, the kind of perfect performance that musicians before and since have strived for but could only seem to achieve alone under the uncaring eye of Heaven.

_Spend a happy day, rejoice in the sweetest perfumes._  
_Adorn the neck and arms of your wife with lotus flowers_  
_And keep your love once seated always at your side._  
_Call no halt to music and dance, but bid all care begone._  
_Spare thought for nothing but pleasure for soon your turn will come_  
_To journey to the land of silence._

As the last notes sang from the harp, the slow gentle decay of sound into dissonance was all that was left until that was gone too, carried off by time and the wind that rustled the leaves of the trees that lined the courtyard.

“...Lovely song, wasn't it?” Aziraphale sighed.

“Yes.” Crawley's voice was no more than breath. 

And then Aziraphale realized their hands were gripping each other tight, fingers interlaced. The demon's hand was cool and dry, and for a moment all Aziraphale could think of was the smooth scales of a serpent, its body sinuous and twining.

Later, Aziraphale would wonder who reached out to the other first and how they managed to get into such a state, but all the angel did now was hold the demon's hand, both of them holding absolutely still, not daring to breathe, not daring to move.

Finally, Aziraphale broke the silence but without letting go. “Let's go back in. He'll perform it properly for everyone soon. Get a drink together. Have some figs. Shall we go-”

Crawley moved first, shaking Aziraphale's hand off. And when Aziraphale turned to look back to the demon, Crawley was already gone, leaving nothing behind, not even a black feather.


	3. Mesopotamia, 3004 B.C.

**Mesopotamia, 3004 B.C.**

Crawley and Aziraphale looked up at the falling rain before looking back down at the parched earth trickling rivulets as the rain poured down.

“Aziraphale, these days I'm based out of the land of the black-headed people and I've heard things. Rumors. I heard that someone sent a message about a great big flood. Someone up there,” Crawley pointed up to the seething sky, “with authority to act down here sent a message to Noah. Atrahasis. Ziusudra. Utnapishtim. Whatever they're calling him these days. Anyway, a message was sent directly to his house, calling to him from the walls. 'Reed house, reed house! Wall, wall! Pay attention to all my words...'” Crawley quoted, in a thin reedy mocking voice. “You could have told me something was going to happen; did I really have to hear about it from the human gossip around town?”

“I can assure you that it wasn't me. I've only recently been briefed,” Aziraphale said primly. “And I've told you all I can tell you. Any more and there will be trouble.”

“You're no use.” Crawley threw his hands up and stalked off.

As rain soaked into his black robes, Crawley walked away from the angel, wondering where to go and what to do next. Evacuate, Crawley thought. Get the humans to evacuate, scare them from the great flood basin of the Tigris and Euphrates river valley with signs and portents. Fire was always a good thing, especially if you could make it shoot out of the ground somehow or better yet, from the top of a ziggurat. Get an earthquake going, that would shake things up. Get them to higher ground, turn into a snake and chase the whole lot of them right out of the river valley if he had to. And if anyone asked, he was thwarting Heaven’s will...

But then the ground cracked before him in an eruption of flames and seeing who it was rising out of it, Crawley fell to his knees in prostration, face touching the ground.

Robed in a simple black gown with long sleeves trailing, wearing a crown of glossy black meteoric iron curved in the shape of ibex horns, the Prince of Hell turned to Crawley, and Crawley saw a flash of those heavy earrings shaped like flies, gleaming black obsidian set with brilliantly faceted rubies for eyes.

“Lord Beelzebub.” Crawley tasted mud and scowled at the ground as if it were the ground's fault. The mud retreated. “What an honor.”

“Rizze, child.” Beelzebub gestured, and Crawley stood, straightening mud-stained clothes. “Come, walk the landzz of man with me.” 

Crawley followed at Beelzebub's side, slouching even more than usual as if to make himself smaller, to somehow shrink back into the earth, intimidated in the presence of the royalty of Hell. It was one thing to face a Prince of Hell in a planning meeting or in a presentation surrounded by his fellow demons in the darkness; it was another thing to be asked to accompany one alone on earth. 

As the Prince walked the mortal world, Crawley couldn't help but notice that nothing touched Beelzebub; not rain, nor mud, nor the swaying reeds. Not even the rising wind stirred the Prince's black wings. Beelzebub's feet did not quite touch the ground and left no footprints.

Crawley felt a sudden surge of shame, and imitating the Prince, unfolded black wings that had hitherto been hidden from view.

“It izz pleazing to me to walk about the world. There is much rezzponsibility in what we do that I do not see it as often as I want.” Beelzebub walked toward the green marshland, where domed reed houses like overturned boats dotted the marshy land.

Crawley was surprised; he had never heard Beelzebub speak with such candor, but then again, he realized that he had never been alone with Beelzebub before. So Crawley kept his mouth shut and his ears open, wondering what the highest ranked Prince of Hell wanted from him.

They wandered their way through a cluster of reed houses undetected, watching the humans going about their lives. Some watched the rain from the shelter of their homes, weaving and repairing, mending and sewing; others carried on their business as usual as though there was nothing particularly different about today, cooking or tending plants, visiting and borrowing. Wherever the demons went, milk went sour, animals fell sick, foundations cracked, and humans coughed and quarreled, as if from a miasma radiating forth in the wake of the Prince of Hell.

But then as he walked after Beelzebub through a yard enclosed by a grove of swaying date palms, Crawley noticed a child who to his surprise noticed him, greeted him, and tried to catch his hand as he passed. He hoped that Beelzebub hadn't noticed; there was no way he should have been visible to any human, and yet somehow this child could see...

Crawley looked away, but not before whispering something softly beneath his breath.

“...the best and a good life...”

“Blezzing a child?” But Beelzebub sounded more amused than angry.

“Blessing? Me? Oh no, no, not me, of course not. How could I? That would be absolutely against every principle in my demonic body. Not that I have principles, you know, just a figure of speech. This is uh, this is what I like to call um, 'seeding envy'. See, if I did it right, this child will have a fantastic life. Absolutely fantastic. Way too fantastic. Everything just coming about easy and without a care. They'll sprout jealousy wherever they go. It'll cause so many problems, tempting people around them to envy and ruin. And, and their life will be so easy that they'll grow up lazy and redolent. Sloth you know, big sin, that.” Crawley felt himself running out of false enthusiasm. “Within ten years, we shall have them...”

“Clever. Subtle but unnecessary. A good life, thou hazzt given it, yes. It will enjoy the fruitz of thy machinationzz, but not for long.” Beelzebub's mouth twitched at the irony, and Crawley's eyes widened.

“You know, reminds me.” Crawley felt his voice sounding false even as he tried to sound casual. “Heard some rumors. Are we? Here? To uh...do some uh, cleanup work?”

“It izz true that Death shall be arriving soon. We await hizz coming,” Beelzebub said simply. 

“Isn't that a lot of people to be uh...gathering up at once? Maybe too many?”

“Normally it would be much work. Paperwork for yearzz,” Beelzebub sighed. “But thiz time Death will do much of the procezzing work for uzz; we are only azked to do our uzual part in guarding the gatezz to the landzz beyond. The journey on the road from where there is no return doezz not belong to uzz nor them. We merely expedite the procezz when we can,” Beelzebub gestured vaguely upwards, but Crawley was very much aware of _who_ the Prince of Hell was talking about. 

“Oh. But don't some of the humans go up there? I mean, I've seen some of them who now work down with us. Don't they ever...I mean, the Opposition. Take some people up?” 

Beelzebub looked amused, or as amused as someone who was never amused could look. “Innozzent. Like a human child, Crawley, to be so curiouzz. Of course sometimez they request a soul or two. Juzzt as we ourselvez sometimes request one or two. But otherwize? Off to the darknezz.”

Feeling brave, Crawley spoke up. “What happens to them? Where do they go?”

“Child.” Beelzebub glanced over. “That izz not for uzz to know. No one knowzz.”

“Oh, right.” Crawley made an effort to keep black wings from drooping.


	4. Responsibility

“So uh, what brings you to Earth personally, my lord? I mean, if all the paperwork's been taken care of...why bother?” Crawley tried to say it as casually as possible. He brushed aside soaked hair from his face, wringing out the ends though it did nothing as the rain kept falling.

Beelzebub looked at Crawley with distaste and gestured. A moment later, Crawley was dry, clothes immaculate as if he had never touched the ground.

“Hazzt thou forgotten thyself? Getting dirty and wet as mizzerable mortalzz do.”

“Oh no. No, no, no, no. Of course not, could never forget that. Really.” Crawley's mouth tightened, forcing his hands to draw away from the fabric of his clothes, wondering what Beelzebub had changed about him. “Impossible to forget. Why would I do that? I couldn't forget. How could I forget?” Crawley laughed it off weakly. “Just blending in, see, that's part of the job. Can't be walking around dry while the humans are wet, they'll suspect something's off. Great noticers humans are, always noticing-”

“Silenzz.” 

And Crawley closed his mouth.

“Thou wonderezt why it izz that I am here,” Beelzebub looked at Crawley, cold bored eyes dismissive.

“Well, sure. I just didn't want to presume-”

Beelzebub gestured, and Crawley fell silent, feeling the weight of Hell's authority in that small and slender hand.

“My lord?”

“It hazz been a great succezz, the work thou hath wrought for uzz. Zo much temptation, zo much evil that we have forzed the Opposition'zz hand.”

“Huh?” For a moment, Crawley was genuinely stunned, but then he remembered the memos. “Oh. Oh yeah! That. Temptation. Hard work, really.” Crawley cleared his throat. “Been keeping real busy up here. Busy busy, no rest for the wicked...”

“You have earned Hell'z commendationzz, Crawley. The Almighty's hand haz been forzed; the Lord muzzt now wreck dezztruction. We have made the Lord dezztroy what the Lord lovezz best; the Lord'z own workzz and creation. Thou shalt stand by my side, at the plaze of honor-”

“The place of what?”

“The plaze of honor, az we watch the dezztruction of man. We have been called upon by Heaven itzelf to stand witnezz. All the forcezz of Hell will come to feast upon the Almighty's failurezz. Come, and I will show thee all the kingdomz of man, fallen into ruin.”

“Well, not _all_ the kingdoms right? Just the ones right here.”

“Yezz, all the kingdomz of man. Right here.”

“But not beyond.”

“No, juzzt right here. The kingdomz right here.”

“Oh good. I mean bad. I mean, right. Yes, of course. Makes all the sense in the world.” Crawley's fell still, feeling inner machinations speeding up as he realized he was being asked to watch the deaths of thousands upon thousands. “Uh, my lord? My prince?”

“Yezz? Speak, child, I am liztening.”

“Nothing personal and I am truly, truly honored but-”

“But what?”

“I've got a bit of...unfinished business? Tempting? Got a big list you know. Not much time left before the waters get too high. You know how that is, always work work work, that's me all right-”

“Fine.” Beelzebub gestured dismissively. “Be back in time for the show. All the demonzz of Hell will be there to watch. And after the waterz rezede, thou shalt stand by my side. Not exactly by my side but behind me. And behind Hazztur and Ligur. Azzmodeuzz himzelf will be standing second, then after we Princezz will come the Dukezz of Hell, and after, thou shalt then join uzz at the plaze of honor as we witnezz the signing of the Covenant with our counterpartzz from Heaven.”

“Sure thing boss, uh, my prince, er...my lord.”

“It izz thy workz that have led us here to this hizztoric moment. Thy deeds will be remembered.”

“Oh, good. I mean bad. I mean...” Crawley said, drooping. “I'm over the moon. You can count on that.”

“Come.” Beelzebub gestured, spreading black wings to the sky. “We watch.”

All around, the ground boiled open and darkness seeped out, demons rising into the air to watch from the best seats in the house, and very decisively, Crawley walked away.

*****

Black thunderclouds gathered on the horizon, and it took Aziraphale several minutes to realize that these were not clouds but demons gathering on the other side of the floodplain. Which explained the flocks of angels descending from their ladders to Earth.

Quickly, the angel took flight, heading toward the clouds.

“Excuse me. Excuse me!” Aziraphale pushed through a gathering of angels crowding to watch the waters rise on the Euphrates and the Tigris. Low-ranked angels in short tunics all around him nodded politely, though did not prostrate themselves as they should have before a Principality of Heaven; no one prostrated themselves before a Cherubim knocked down several ranks, who might as well have been Fallen given how many ranks Aziraphale had been demoted. 

“Aziraphale! Where do you think you're going?” A familiar voice and Aziraphale froze in place.

“Oh, it's you.” Aziraphale slid on the mask of a polite smile before turning to Gabriel.

“And where do you think you're going?”

“Oh, you know.” Aziraphale smiled, a tight-lipped expression, eyes wandering back to the falling rain that did not seem to touch the other angels but was soaking Aziraphale through. “Work work work! Always something more... Not much time to get these last-minute blessings in before the waters rise. That said, best be be on my way-”

“Say, you're not trying to get out of this are you? Because we're really supposed to all be here for this, standing witness for the Almighty,” Gabriel said, unctuously.

“Oh no, no. No, no, no. This would be absolutely impossible to miss. Of course you know that I am, as ever, obedient to Heaven's will. I just...just have some quick blessings to get through before the levees break. You know me, lots to do, keeping busy and all that. Creation's a big place!”

“Yes, yes, of course. Just...stop forgetting you're an angel and dry off. You should be embarrassed at the state of your celestial body. Is that...mud on your feet?”

“Oh yes, right.” Aziraphale muttered and with a gesture was miraculously straightened up, clean and dry, but then started getting wet again as the rain continued to fall. 

“I expect you'll be here for the Covenant signing and the post-Covenant reception in Heaven. Word has it that the Adversary's bringing their agent on Earth to the signing. Not that you've been doing that good of a job lately; if you were, we wouldn't have to be here destroying all living things in this floodplain. After all, you're responsible for this mess.”

“Responsible?” Aziraphale turned pale.

“Partially.”

“How many parts?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Don't ask me, I'm not in Accounting.”

“Me? Are you sure?”

“Oh yes, you. We're very sure.”

Michael cut in. “Gabriel, a word? I just found out that their side is sending two Princes, two Dukes, and a demon.”

“Two Princes _and_ two Dukes?! What about us? Who are we sending?”

“Two Archangels and three angels.”

“And we're just bringing angels? We can't let them show us up.”

The two Archangels looked at each other and then at Aziraphale, who began backing up though there was nowhere to go.

“We could make it four Archangels and a Prince of Heaven,” Michael suggested.

“That's not a bad idea. Aziraphale! Principality.” Gabriel grinned, clasping his hands to his chest. “You know, it would be such an honor if you would be part of the delegation.”

“If you want to impress them that badly, why don't you send the Metatron?” Aziraphale asked crossly. “The Metatron outranks all of us and all of them by a long shot. They'd have to send Satan himself to come anywhere close to outranking the Metatron.”

Michael and Gabriel looked at Aziraphale and then at each other, before bursting out laughing.

“Oh Aziraphale. Always good for a laugh.” Gabriel chuckled. “Stay out of things you don't understand, all right? Let us handle the real work. You can go back to your little blessings among creation now, there's a good angel. Make sure to be back before the signing.” And before Aziraphale could say anything further, the two flew away to be at the very front ranks of the clouds of angels watching the deluge.

“Isn't that nice,” Michael said as they flew away, even though it wasn't. 

There was a sound that pierced even to the skies; it was the cracking of a levee, and Aziraphale pushed all the harder to get away. “Excuse me!”


	5. Abydos, 3004 B.C.

**Abydos, 3004 B.C.**

Under a shady veranda covered with blooming vines, an angel sat drinking in despair, watching the slow crawl of the Nile on a hot and sunny afternoon. Boats of all sizes sailed past serene, wild marsh birds landed in chattering flocks along the shores, a crocodile floated along lazily through the lotuses, and yet despite all the beauty, Aziraphale could not help but lament.

“You know, I never asked to be a Guardian of Eden,” Aziraphale sniffled, sipping beer through a straw, arms hugged around the tall clay jar. “I was just minding my own business one day and then one of the Elohim came up to me and said, 'Look, it'll be easy, anyone could do it. Just take your flaming sword and keep the new creations out of trouble'. How was I supposed to know there was a Tree of Knowledge? I wasn't invited to the planning meetings. I thought it was just another apple tree...” Tears welled in Aziraphale's eyes. “They could have put it on the moon if they really didn't want anyone eating from it. Anywhere else but the middle of Eden. And next thing I know they're destroying every living being down to the bacteria and it's my fault? How is it my fault? Even in part? I wasn't on the planning committee!”

A huge splash, followed by a great commotion, and Aziraphale looked up. Someone had leapt off a passing boat and was now wading through the marshy reeds by the bank, gray linen kilt sopping through the muddy waters. Boldly, they strode forward through the waters like a god, if a god had very agile hips and a penchant for tossing unwary crocodiles and ducks out of the way.

“You! What are you doing here?” Aziraphale stood up immediately, pointing at Crawley.

“I should ask the same about you.” Crawley hefted himself out of the river, the pale skin of his torso gleaming from a sheen of water. Lotus leaves clung to his skin, and he picked those off as he walked over to the woven mat where Aziraphale had been sitting. 

“You vile, no-good... Aren't you going to do something about that?” Aziraphale pointed at the mud and muck that Crawley was tramping into the open-air tavern. “People are looking!” 

“People are looking,” Crawley muttered mockingly, and then gave Aziraphale a sharp look. “Fine, I'll be back.”

As Crawley stalked away Aziraphale was glad for the reprieve; it gave the angel some time to sober up.

Crawley snarled to himself and wondered why he was bothering with even pretending to clean up. He stalked down a well-trodden dirt path down from the tavern and around a grove of spindly trees to the point where the boats were moored and back, only cleaning off at the last minute with an impatient gesture before walking back into the shaded yard of the tavern.

Aziraphale sat primly, mouth moving in such a way that it seemed that the angel was trying to get a bad taste out of it, and Crawley gave the human-made foods a suspicious glare, wondering what it was that Aziraphale was poisoning that mouth with.

“If you must know, some of us like the feeling of cool water drying off our skins on a hot day,” Crawley hissed as he sat down, rattling the heavy collar of serpentinite and carnelian beads around his neck.

“And what's that smell?” Aziraphale's nose wrinkled curiously at the hint of a fragrance that clung to Crawley. “It's not Nile water...”

“Roses and myrrh.” Crawley tossed back his long copper hair, dressed in the local style in many little braids. “You don't like it?”

“No, it's nice. I'll get used to it.”

“It's what the humans call 'perfume'. They find it strange if they can't smell us. Good or bad, all living beings have some kind of scent.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” Aziraphale said, reaching for the straw and dipping down to drink but then seemed to waver, setting the jar of beer aside.

Crawley gave Aziraphale a look. “So, what brings you to Egypt? Thought you were supposed to be with all the other angels, watching everyone die horribly.”

“Aren't you supposed to be doing the same? With the other demons.”

“Well.” Crawley reclined back, settling down comfortably on the mat, looking up at the shadows tangled among green leaves. The hot sunshine that filtered through the vines felt comfortable, and Crawley yawned. “I'm not telling if you're not telling.” 

“Oh no. Wait, you can't. This is a temptation, isn't it? You're tempting me!”

“Relax, it's nothing that serious. You've already run away, you didn't need me to talk you into that.” Crawley waved it off with an elegant gesture. “There are ten million angels and an equivalent number of demons. I doubt anyone's going to miss two.”

“But what if they do?”

“Then we make things up. Backed up work log. Got caught out nipping into Wales for a quick blessing. Had a secret saint of the world emergency, needed to do a quick temptation to clear that right up before we picked up yet another case of secret saints. Except it happened in Mongolia. The farthest corner of it. You know, an excuse. You can make up an excuse, can't you?” Crawley peeked one eye open to give Aziraphale a particularly pointed look.

“Obviously, but. But I'm not supposed to,” Aziraphale worried. “It's dishonest. What if something bad happens?”

“Something bad? You mean, there's something worse than destroying all living beings? If something bad happens, no one will notice. We're too small and insignificant for them to be paying that much attentio-” Crawley suddenly sat up. “Wait.”

“Wait what?”

“Think about it. If something were to happen...” Crawley grinned, catching Aziraphale's eye. “No one would notice.” 

Aziraphale's expression brightened, as if the sun breaking through black clouds.

“Because...” And here both angel and demon spoke at once, pointing to each other in exultation, “Nobody's watching!”

“So we can do as we like!”

“Yes!”

Crawley laid back down and closed his eyes. Aziraphale did the same, and they stayed like this for a few minutes, soaking in the heat of the Egyptian sun.

“Okay, I can't do this,” Crawley sat back up. “I can't sleep through it. I just can't.”

“I don't sleep,” Aziraphale confessed, doing the same.

“Now what?”

There was a long silence, and Aziraphale could not help but remember Gabriel's words. Responsible. In part. The words went round and round inside the angel, a spiraling mandala of shame.

“I think... I have an idea,” Aziraphale said carefully. 

Crawley's eyebrow raised. 

“I propose...that we do something with our time. Something productive.”

“Go on.” Crawley's slitted eyes focused keenly on Aziraphale, curious.

“We go on a bender. Miracles all over the world. All the things we want to do but never have. Heal the sick. Anyone and everyone, not just who we're told to heal. Inspire great feats of creativity. Joy and blessings, all around. Balance out some of that suffering and death.”

“Did you forget that I'm a demon? I don't do those things. Suffering and death is my department, I'm not supposed to be thwarting suffering and death. I'm supposed to be tempting people and causing misery, not...miracle-ing my way around the world.” Crawley sneered.

“But you can, can't you? After all, you're an angel first. Even if fallen.”

Crawley looked away. “How many days do we have?” 

“Until the waters recede? Seven days of rain, forty days of flood, then one hundred fifty days-”

“How many, total.”

“About a year?” Aziraphale drooped.

“Long enough to do some serious damage.” Crawley offered his hand to the angel and they pulled each other up onto their feet. “Meet back here in a year, less a day. Let's go.”


	6. The Miracle Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I recommend reading this from left to right (and not column by column).  
  
---  
An angel walked across the Nile, climbed aboard the boat of the High Priest of Osiris, and said, “Fear not. For behold, that thought you had of assigning names to days? It might help things like predicting the yearly flood and when to plant and harvest and so forth. Make things nice and orderly. Mind dropping me off at Memphis?” 

| An angel waded out of the Nile, climbed aboard the merchant ship, and said, “Fear not, travel humans. Mind giving me a lift? How about as far as the sea and a bit further? I'll make it worth your while, introduce you to some people who will pay you for this grain. You can trade it for all sorts of fancy things.”  
An angel came down from the heavens and spake: “Are you all right? No need to worry, your boat didn't tip over and you're not in the water. Must have been a bad dream. Look, speaking of dreams, remember how you've been dreaming about building that new home for you and your family? Why don't you stop off at that island and just go for it? Crete is very nice and the people there are very nice too.” 

| An angel came out of the grassland and spake: “You all right there? Come on, up with you, that's a good girl. Don't worry, your leg is absolutely not broken. It's just a bruise, you'll be fine. From now on, you'll go on to tame many more horses. Definitely not this one though. And not that one either, that one bites people, you should eat that one.”  
And verily the angel spake, “All right, sure. Why not. Let me miracle you up a cow. A nice one.” When the cow wandered through the land they followed. Where it stopped and laid down, he built the city and called it Troy and it was a very lovely city indeed. 

| And verily the angel spake: “Nope.” And left the bandits and robbers tangled in a thorn bush that wasn't there before. Fire from the ground began to burn, lighting the way and then the townsfolk caught up to the fugitives and justice was served.  
The angel spoke with a kind voice: “This drought has been going on for long enough. Everyone, listen up! There's going to be more rain from now on in the Black Desert, but we need you to keep up the good work conserving water. Just because there's more doesn't mean it's unlimited.” 

| The angel spoke with a hissing voice: “You know, I thought I'd come by and end this drought but it looks like someone's beat me to it. Say, mind pointing me in the direction of whoever helped out with this miraculous weather? Would be helpful, thanks.”  
Truly good had come to the land when the angel appeared right after the other angel appeared and healed the sick and sick at heart. Then the angel asked: “Have you seen someone that may be somewhat helpful in a roundabout way or possibly hisses a lot? About this tall, dark hair? Good cheekbones?” 

| Truly good had come to the land when the angel appeared right after the other angel appeared and tossed the wicked slaver into the churning river. Then the angel asked: “I'm looking for someone that is overly friendly, smiles too much, and about this tall with flaxen hair. I'd appreciate any information. No? Anyone?”  
When the angel spoke, it was to the reed weaver and not to the king. “Perhaps if you flattened the reeds out a bit, you could maybe write on it? With a bit of charcoal or ink and brush maybe? And then you'll be able to give it a look anytime you like. Rolls up nicely too.” 

| When the angel spoke, it was to the copper craftsman and not to the king. “Have you considered making something sharp? Something pointy would be awfully useful on those nights when wild beasts are running about, biting people. Could be a hit.”  
Then the angel said, “All this painful toiling and trouble is terrible for your back. Have you considered using an ox? They're very strong, much stronger than you. Why don't you give it a try, pick one that's docile and not too big and go from there. Maybe if you give it a nibble it'll be more likely to help you out.” 

| Then the angel said, “All this toiling in the fields is a lot of trouble. Have you considered using a wild ass to get things done? They're strong, and I guarantee that they're loyal and hard-working. Definitely will listen to everything you say. Oh no, it doesn't bite either, not a bit.”  
And the angel appeared on the earthen bank at Woodhenge and said, “Excellent work but if you ask me, you should try building your new calendar in stone. Pine is no good, rots too fast; you'll be forever replacing it. If you make it big, people will come from all over the world to have a look. Could be good for tourism.” 

| And the angel appeared at the Hill of Tara and said, “If you ask me, it would take a demonic intervention to stop this plague. You could do some things to keep it from getting worse. Try washing your hands more and burying the dead so they're not lying all over the place getting smelly. Then things will get better.”   
And the angel appeared out of the brightness of the sun and said, “You're quite good at plucking that bow for sound, but maybe if you added some more strings and a soundbox, it might be able to produce a better, louder sound. Proper music, like the birds do.” 

| And the angel appeared out of the darkness of the night and said, “You know what would be really useful? If you divided the day up into equal segments. Make everything divisible by 60. Cut a circle into 360 equal slices. I suggest calling it _maths_.”  
  
No one ever knew that this was a miracle year, when all over the world, cities and civilizations were founded, great works of art and architecture were created, people were the healthiest they had ever been or would ever be, and infant mortality briefly dipped to zero for the first and last time in history. It was too early for most written records, and the archaeological record sees mostly the remains of death, not life and the living. 

After all, joy is not quantifiable and leaves few records of its passing.


	7. Abydos, 3003 B.C.

**Abydos, 3003 B.C.**

By the time Crawley arrived, Aziraphale was finishing up an early lunch: a roasted, dressed quail and some small circular cakes still steaming from the oven.

“Ah, Crawley! So glad to see you again. Please, join me. Care for a bite?” Aziraphale beamed.

“Nah.” Crawley gave the human-made food a skeptical look as he sat down. “Oh, are those nabk berries? I'll have some fruit, if you don't mind.”

“Please,” Aziraphale said, offering Crawley a coarse clay bowl filled to the brim with the cherry-like fruit, which in his hands did not dare be anything but the sweetest and plumpest nabk berries in existence.

“Well? How was it?” Crawley asked, as he took a bite of fruit, discarding the pit. Aziraphale did the same, savoring the sweetness of the fruit before speaking.

“Mmm. Delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever had better nabk; this is heavenly.”

“Not the fruit, the miracles,” Crawley said impatiently. “How did that work out?”

“I stopped counting after about a thousand. I think I was pulling a hundred miracles or more a day,” Aziraphale smiled beatifically, eyes half-closed as if in rapture. “Oh it's been such a good year. Haven't felt this good in ages. Possibly ever. What about you?”

“Eh, you know. Tempting people into things. All sorts of _things_. Will have them in so many years, blah blah blah. The usual,” Crawley said vaguely. “Though. I did find someone who stranded themselves on the southern ice cap. Can you imagine? Nice Polynesian lady, pointed her back to the tropics. No idea how she got that far south. Must have been some storm.”

“Oh, and speaking of the oceans, did you see the whales? I didn't know this but they sing! It was so much like a heavenly choir that I spent days singing with them. The dolphins too. Blessed and healed some that were injured by a stranding. Did you know they sometimes get lost?”

“Met some whales myself. Smart, the lot of them. Polite too,” Crawley said. “As polite as the gorillas were, maybe more.” 

“And the forests. The jungles!”

“The mountains. All those green trees...”

“I saw a desert full of tiny cactus flowers...”

“And I saw plains red with poppies.”

“Deep valleys! Just stone and the fast-moving water-”

“Wide oceans of deep green waters, sunlight sparkling off whitecaps...”

“Muddy rivers so wide that you couldn't see across them.”

“I saw so many things I want to tell you about-”

“I did too. I wish you had been there to see-” Eagerly, Aziraphale reached out, catching Crawley's hand, and when the cool golden crown of the ring that Aziraphale wore brushed against Crawley's wrist, Crawley tensed, remembering who they were, and pulled his hand away.

Aziraphale sighed, drawing back.

“Sorry. I forgot myself.”

Crawley waved it off, rubbing at his own hand absently. “Well, fun's over. We should go. It's about time.”

“We should.” Aziraphale sighed. “Do you know if it's over yet?”

Crawley pressed fingertips to his temples, focusing his thoughts. “They're still watching. All of Heaven and Hell just standing about, keeping an eye on things. And the ground is...oh no, the water's down. I can see mud. I think we're going to be late.”

“Oh dear.”


	8. Mesopotamia, 3003 B.C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some depictions of death and decay. Hopefully not too graphic, but it's the aftermath of the Flood, so keep that in mind.

**Mesopotamia, 3003 B.C.**

Smoke rose high into the heavens from the altar, and yet the patch of sky above the altar was empty, even of clouds.

“What izz the Opposition doing taking itz time? Izz not now the time of Covenant?”

“I don't know, Lord Beelzebub,” Hastur said.

“And where izz Crawley?” Beelzebub asked.

“Why are they waiting? Isn't it time?” Gabriel glanced at Michael.

“I don't know,” Michael said anxiously. “What if they refuse to come? Why aren’t they moving?”

“And where is Aziraphale!” Gabriel shouted.

“Here! Right here!” Aziraphale darted down into formation with the delegation, having circled the long way around to come from the north. “So sorry, was on the north side of the flood and got turned around-”

“If I had the time,” Gabriel glared, “You would be written up within a finger of your existence-”

“Gabriel, look,” Michael interrupted. “Hell's given their signal. Let's go.”

“I’ll deal with you later. Get in formation, and let's go.” Gabriel said impatiently, pointing Aziraphale to the back of the group. At Gabriel's signal they began a slow, stately descent toward the ground, the clouds parting before them.

As they circled down from above, Aziraphale's eyes widened at the distant sight of the muddy ground and the livid corpses that littered the blank, washed out Earth.

Crawley tunneled out through the earth from the east toward where he could sense the Princes of Hell were standing, coming up just far enough from their feet not to disturb them. He paused for a moment under the wet and heavy clay, hearing their voices but not comprehending their words, and then before he could hesitate he shook out of his snake form, stepping out from the ground.

“Sorry I'm late guys, got stuck on the far side of the flood and-”

Putrifying corpses still dressed in sodden and rotting sheepskins heaped the ground and there was not the smallest speck of living green to be seen. Everything was mud and maggots, bones and flies.

Crawley's breath caught, and then he wished it hadn't.

“Crawley. Thou art late. We have been awaiting thy appearanzze.”

Crawley stammered, the prepared excuses on the tip of his tongue but Beelzebub gestured for silence. “Thizz prelude to the feast has been good for uz, but this izz just a taste. Duke Hastur is particularly pleazed. Thy timing izz excellent; we have made the Opposition'z representativez suffer from curiozzity wondering why we do not move. Make them think that we do not honor the Covenant. But now it beginzz. The Signing.”

“Crawley darling, thou art lovely as always, cutting such a splendid figure! It’s been absolutely too long since we’ve last met. But do get that mud off, my dear; it's time to go.” Asmodeus clasped Crawley's shoulder with a friendly hand, brilliant green eyes glittering with dark amusement and immediately Crawley was clean, a blank slate untouched by the earth.

There was no lingering hint of perfume, just the nothingness that befit a celestial body.

A moment later the delegation from Hell took flight, Crawley bringing up the rear.

A thin stream of acrid smoke tendriled up into heaven, a meager offering raised up to the still-cloudy skies and the angels, fallen and otherwise, alighted down from the heavens in stately procession. Their splendid raiment of white and gold as well as black and ochre billowed around them in a celestial wind that only touched them, their wings spread wide as they hovered gently above the wreckage of the ruined ziggurat. Blood splattered the ground around the sacred mudbrick altar, puddling dark stains upon older stains.

Gabriel and Beelzebub eyed each other with suspicion as they moved into position, distorted mirror images in their simple long-sleeved gowns. Behind them, four angels and four demons spread out around the altar into their appointed places, and Crawley found himself across from Aziraphale, who could not, or perhaps would not meet his eyes.

Aziraphale's eyes were modestly downcast. Thinking about the angel's bright eyes, Crawley felt a brief moment of lightheaded dizziness remembering days of freedom, the grandeur of the open ocean, the vast polar ice caps, the hush of green forests and the many lives great and small that almost seemed lost in the vast wilderness of creation, hanging on tenaciously to the thin membrane of life trapped and tugged between Heaven and Hell.

Aziraphale's lips moved, but from here Crawley could hear nothing. Wondering what the angel was saying, Crawley leaned forward minutely, as far as he dared to go without catching anyone else's attention.

But then without hearing any words, Crawley realized that Aziraphale was praying.


	9. Standing Witness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some depictions of death and decay. Hopefully not too graphic, but it is tthe aftermath of the Flood, so keep that in mind.

“The humanzz pray,” Beelzebub said coldly. 

“For forgiveness, as they should.” Gabriel replied. “Must be hard being so dirty and imperfect.”

“Truly it muzzt be. We who are perfect are not affected by the world az they are.”

“The perfection of a celestial being means that we are unchanging. Only imperfect things change, and look at just how much they do it. It's disgusting if you ask me, constantly changing and growing,” Gabriel said, making small talk as they waited for the sign from the Almighty. “Am I right?”

“In thizz matter and thizz matter alone, certainly.”

“The one thing we have in common,” Gabriel joked. 

“There is more to it than that. You overzimplify.”

“Definitely not. For one, we don’t fail, not like your lot.”

Beelzebub’s eyes flashed with irritation. “Perhapzz, though it seems that failure izz a common trait as well. What hazz the Almighty come to, as chief decision-maker, to be dezztroying her own creations? Irrationally bringing about the Flood, dooming all to cataztrophe.”

“Well, the humans brought it upon themselves...” Gabriel began, but Beelzebub glared and continued to speak.

“Your side resolved upon annihilation. We merely observed.”

“Well, it’s not my fault. I might sit in the Assembly of Heaven but I’m just following orders.” Gabriel said. “And the orders were...”

“We know what the orderzz were. Now, az per your previouzz memo, we came to witnezz, and we come on behalf of Hell to the signing of the Covenant-”

Crawley looked around as Beelzebub and Gabriel continued to speak on behalf of Hell and Heaven, uttering ritual formalities back and forth that seemed quite useless and ultimately pointless. In the thin crowd of humans huddled behind the angels around the altar, a child looked familiar and he remembered a secret blessing performed so long ago that it might as well have been done by someone else, in another lifetime. But he didn't dare to look for long; the ground beneath their bare feet seethed with rotting corpses and cracking bones.

He looked once more to Aziraphale, who had stopped praying, but was rubbing at bright eyes as if fatigued and to his horror, Crawley realized the angel was crying. 

His hands moved before he meant it, but Crawley remembered himself at the last minute, not daring to reach out to close the gap between them, knowing both Heaven and Hell were watching. He forced his hands to his sides, fists clenched.

Sandalphon, who stood closest to Aziraphale, gave the angel an impatient nudge with a sharp elbow, and Aziraphale nodded, straightening up and blinking, eyes fixed and blank with suppressed emotion.

Crawley tried to catch Aziraphale’s eye, but the angel seemed to look past him, unseeing. He felt a sharp cold pain deep inside and did not know what had caused it, but then the Prince of Hell spoke, and the pain became as it always was, just another part of what made him himself.

“It izz acceptable,” Beelzebub said finally. Reaching out to the savor of the burnt offerings, the Prince of Hell drew forth from the smoke a necklace of flies the color of the black smoke, their ruby-faceted eyes frozen in a moment of agony. The Prince settled it around a slender neck, fingering the precious stones. “Let these fliezz be jewelry around my neck, that I may remember this moment every day and forever. We accept the offering.” Like smoke, the form of the flies wavered, and it seemed that they were a cloud of actual flies buzzing about Beelzebub's head and a necklace of obsidian beads shaped like flies, both at the same time.

“Do I look like I care what humans offer us?” Gabriel smirked, before pointing to the skies, where a light began to glow, growing across the vast floodplain in a great arc. “There, the rainbow. God's Covenant to all living things. Too vague for an everlasting binding covenant if you ask me, but we don't make the rules, we just enforce them. Actually, we do make the rules. Just not that one.” Gabriel clasped his hands. “It's been a pleasure. Archangels. Princes of Hell. Principality. Dukes. Angels. Demons. Thank you all for your time. Our work here is concluded. And thank _you_ , humans, we accept your apology,” he said to the unhearing masses without turning to look at them. “Let's get out of here, this place stinks. Michael, I think it's time for Aziraphale to return to head office for some mandatory policy training...we’ll make it an even six months to start.”

As the angels left, Beelzebub stood back from the altar, lifting lightly into the air, Asmodeus standing second at Beelzebub's side, their black wings churning in the charnel reek of smoke and death.

“Are we ready then, my dear?” Asmodeus turned to Beelzebub, offering the Prince of Hell an elegant and solicitous hand, which Beelzebub took.

“Yezz. I am ready. Now it is our time to reign on earth az in Hell. Hastur! Give out the order. Let the feast commenze. And after we are sated, after the ground izz clean of death, we shall return to...where izz Crawley?”


	10. Sinai Desert, 2903 B.C.

**Sinai Desert, 2903 B.C.**

“It was hard to find you. You fly awfully fast. For a moment I thought you had disappeared yourself,” Aziraphale said, alighting down from the skies, white wings gleaming brilliantly in the desert sun before disappearing from sight as the angel's bare feet touched the ground. Crawley was reclining on a bed of soft grasses growing barley-thick beside the clear turquoise waters of the oasis, the linen of the sheath dress clinging to a sinuous hip. A gust rippled over the placid water and scrubby trees whispered their secrets to the wind, trailing invisible fingers through Crawley's long, tangled hair, strands of which were still braided.

“Yeah, well. Wish I could disappear myself.” Crawley tossed a stone into the water and it sank with an ignominious plop. “What is it? Come to gloat about Heaven's righteousness? That the sinners were all meant to be dead and damned and unforgivable and so on?” Crawley sat up to glare at Aziraphale, mussing hands through dark copper hair hair. A last blue lotus fell into the water, bruised and forgotten, floating away. 

“No. Just...wondering.” Hesitant, Aziraphale paused before coming to sit at Crawley's right, kneeling down demurely, smoothing the linen gown with nervous hands. The angel pulled off the heavy flaxen wig, setting it down, and a white lotus tumbled out onto the grass, bruised and battered from the winds. 

Crawley picked up the flower and handed it back to the angel, who tucked it behind one ear.

“Wondering what?” Crawley asked.

“Just wondering if...”

“If what?”

“Never mind, it's nothing to worry about,” Aziraphale said gently. “If you like, I could-”

“Don't need anything. Just tell me what's on your mind and get it over with.”

“I was wondering...” 

“Yes?” Crawley asked, growing impatient.

“If you were mad at me?” Aziraphale's voice sounded quiet, no more than a whisper, and Crawley looked over, surprised to see the angel's eyes full of unshed tears.

“No. No, of course not,” Crawley said, mostly meaning it. “Why would I ever be mad at you? It's not your fault.”

“Oh, do you really think so?” Aziraphale looked away but sounded awfully relieved, and it jolted an old memory in Crawley, a memory of new beginnings, at the great stone wall surrounding the Garden.

“Sure I do. You do a good job. Why, I'm constantly getting thwarted. All my wicked wiles and ways, just thwarted, me...” But Crawley didn't have the energy to continue, and fell silent. 

The wind picked up as the sun set, and all the world seemed to melt into glorious pinks. As time passed and darkness fell, soon the stars began pricking through the blue-black fabric of the sky, the moon hanging low on the horizon, no more than a silver sickle of light.

Soon it became too dark to see each other clearly, but each could tell that the other had not moved, had not left.

“For what it's worth...I don't think it was your fault either,” Aziraphale said, and it seemed to Crawley that the angel sounded very far away, even though they sat close.

“No? Really?” Crawley felt some of that dark scowl melting away but then sighed. “Look, I really want to believe that.”

“I've put the matter to great thought, ” Aziraphale said. “Just because someone said it was your fault doesn't always mean it's true.” 

“Thought they didn't give you time to think up there.” Crawley gestured vaguely.

“No, not really. But it doesn't mean I can't. I would think it an error, some architectural failure in my 'celestial temple' as they say. But,” Aziraphale shrugged. “I couldn't think like this if I weren’t created to think like this, could I? We were all made to be perfect and unchanging.”

“Maybe you were.” Crawley changed the subject. “Everything's changed and I haven't, and I don't know how to feel. A hundred years time? Really?”

“Really. I'm sorry I didn't know,” Aziraphale said. “If I did, I wouldn't have...I mean, I would have been more conscientious. After all, I'm supposed to be the nice one.”

“It's not your fault. You couldn't have known.” Crawley chafed cold hands. 

“To be honest, if anyone's to blame for the Flood,” Aziraphale began, and then looked around nervously. “N-never mind, it's not worth saying. Someone's always listening.”

“Always,” Crawley agreed. 

Noticing the demon shivering, Aziraphale unfolded white wings and curved one around Crawley's shoulder solicitously, shielding the demon from the night wind that cut cold through the heart of the desert. 

Crawley slid a little bit closer in the shelter of the angel's wing, but not close enough to touch. 

“You know who's always listening?”

“Who?” Aziraphale wondered. “The Dark Council? The Legions of Hell? Or do you perhaps mean the Earth Observation Department up in Heaven...?”

“Nah. Birds. They're always listening. Ducks in particular. Not quite air-dwellers, not quite land-dwellers, not quite water-dwellers... Caught in the middle, just like us.”

“I don't know about you but I...” Aziraphale paused. “Yes. Maybe you're right. Caught in the middle.”

“It's ducks.” Crawley said, chucking another stone, disturbing the tenuous reflection of the moon upon the water. This time it hit the surface without sinking and floated away until it struck the edge of the pond.

Crawley shot Aziraphale an offended look.

“Sorry. It was going to hit a fish.”

“Not my fault if the fish is in the way of my rock, it knew what it chose to do when it decided to go swimming around...”

“What was I supposed to do? I can't just let you do as you like, I'm here to thwart you!” 

“Oh so that's what passes for a thwarting these days, hmm? A fish and a pebble? Hey Heaven, I hear your standards are getting low!”

“Shush, they might actually be listening!”

“Who, you mean the ducks?” Crawley looked away to conceal a smile. 

“No, Heaven of course! The ducks are all asleep by now.”

“Oh, well then I had better keep my voice down. You too. What would they think, the two of us consorting like this...”

“They would think it was awful, I’m sure. We’d both be in a lot of...” Aziraphale muttered, but then a shooting star burned itself out across the night sky, a fleeting flash of light, and by the time Aziraphale moved a hand to point, it was already gone. 

“Crawley! Did you see that?”

“Yes.” Crawley fell quiet, so quiet and still that for a moment Aziraphale thought the demon had gone. But then as Aziraphale stood up to leave, drawing away, Crawley’s voice murmured from the shadows. 

“Say, Aziraphale. Before you go, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“Do you remember the whales?” 

“Whales? I’ve heard of whales. Never seen them up close before, but someone said they’re big and swim in the ocean. Oh, and they sing? I wonder what they sound like. Have you seen them before? Are they good singers?”

Eyes wide, Crawley looked over at Aziraphale, surprised, but in the darkness, Crawley could not clearly see the angel’s expression.

“You don’t remember…!”

“Remember what?”

“Do you recall what we did? Maybe about a hundred years plus a year ago?”

“Witnessed the Flood?” Aziraphale asked, puzzled. “We were there, weren’t we?”

“Ah. Oh yes. Yes, of course.” Crawley scowled. 

“Standing witness with all the forces of Heaven and Hell. I saw you quite clearly on the other side among the demons of Hell; you stand out in a crowd you know, what with that striking hair. And then we stood on opposite sides to witness the Covenant with our own delegations, representing our head offices, and it was quite a beautiful new thing, the rainbow. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Something I heard,” Crawley lied. “One last thing. What’s your opinion on nabk berries?”

“Nabk berries? Oh, they’re quite lovely in season. The sweetest ones I ever had were...were in Abydos? Right before the signing of the Covenant...” Aziraphale paused. “But that’s odd, that would mean I wasn’t...I shouldn’t have...did I?” Aziraphale fell into a troubled silence.

“Actually, I hear they make a good duck with nabk berries,” Crawley said finally, reaching up to the angel to press a cool hand to the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand, giving the angel’s hand a squeeze. “You’ll have to try it. I know I’ve heard of a place in Memphis that does that. At least, it does that now.” Crawley stood, dusting off, hand pressing the angel’s hand lightly. 

“Oh, that sounds delightful. When should we go?”

“How about now?”


	11. Notes

Thanks to Elinekeit for listening to my drafts, sigmastolen for listening to my ideas, and to Shejackalarts for both suggesting the name of the series and for helping with some suggestions on tone/characterization. And thanks to you, the readers, for the thoughtful comments and ongoing support. It gives me life~

**Chapter 1**

Some reading on ancient Egyptian banquets: http://www.heritageuniversityofkerala.com/JournalPDF/Volume2/474-480.pdf  
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/pharaonic-feast-afterlife-history-cultural-travel-180961617/

There was apparently a hierarchy of seating where the most important people sat in chairs, then stools, then on the ground on woven mats. Unsurprisingly most of the women and children sit on the ground on woven mats.

The reference to the triangular bread comes from the tomb of a lady of lesser nobility from the Second Dynasty (Old Kingdom) which is described in the chapter titled _Royal Tombs_ in Egypt Before the Pharaohs, by Michael A. Hoffman.

The Egyptians are definitely famous (or infamous?) for those heavily kohled eyes. Eyeliner wings on point! As I understand it developed to keep off the glare of the sun.

Wigs apparently also came in pale colors, though they were for the most part dark-colored. Ancient Egyptians often shaved or cropped their hair short and wore wigs.

Ideas for materials for their beaded collars came from here: https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works/#!?time=02&geo=af

The Egyptian blue lotus, Nymphaea caerulea, has psychoactive and sedating qualities (and is banned in some countries as a controlled substance). It is often depicted at banquets. There is also a white lotus too. Both white and blue lotuses seem to have some psychedelic aphrodisiac qualities. There are also lots of symbolic meanings to the flowers in ancient Egypt, most notably in the creation of the world.

I realized as I was writing the third story (in progress) that electrum, a natural alloy of gold and silver that can look either more or less like gold or silver depending on how much gold or silver is in it, makes an excellent symbol for both Aziraphale and Crowley.

Don't forget about the world's oldest cheese: https://gizmodo.com/worlds-oldest-cheese-found-in-ancient-tomb-was-also-v-1828414954 (time to make the world's oldest grilled cheese sandwich).

The first king to unify Upper (south) and Lower (north) Egypt, Narmer's name translates to the Fighting Catfish. He’s most famously known from The Palette of Narmer: http://egypt-grammar.rutgers.edu/Artifacts/Narmer%20Palette.pdf which has some Mesopotamian influences in style and imagery. Not as cool to some people as the possibly mythological Scorpion King (the historical figure that precedes Narmer, not The Rock) but I like Narmer way better. 

Why the Fighting Catfish? Nile catfish have sharp spines, are venomous, and will cut you.

Narmer's successor was Hor-Aha, but you will understand why I chose to omit his name. Just kidding, actually, in my first draft this king was Narmer and then I realized that mistakes were made in counting B.C.E. (gdi B.C.E.). I really wanted it to be Narmer.

The title 'He of the Sedge and Bee' or _nsw-bity_ (using the hieroglyphs for sedge, loaf, bee, and loaf) is variously translated as “King of the Dualities” or “King of Upper and Lower Egypt”. The sedge is the symbol of Upper Egypt and the bee is a symbol of Lower Egypt. Here are some nice examples: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Nesut-bity Kings names and titles are way more complicated than this, this is just a vague suggestion.

While researching this story and the previous one, I found this by chance while poking around the internet: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ancient_astronauts#/media/File:Hieroglif_z_Abydos.jpg Notice that it's in a cartouche, which means it's a name. From the orientation, we read right to left (ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs can be read in either direction, just look at where the figures are pointing). In fact, this is a king's name, because of the _nsw-bity_. So according to the ancient alien guys, this person is named Submarine Airplane Helicopter, King of Upper and Lower Egypt.

The imagery of the cat eating a fish under a chair during a banquet comes from the Banquet Scene with Musicians from the Tomb of Nakht: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/548576 Definitely a much later period but I can't imagine cats to be too different.

Images of heavily laden feast tables also often appear in funerary art with the funerary offering formula. Actually, if you are interested in learning ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, probably the best way that I know of doing it without a class is the book How to Read Egyptian Hieroglyphs: A Step-by-Step Guide to Teach Yourself by Mark Collier. If you work through at least chapter 3 and the funerary formula, you can read just about anything in a museum (because it’s usually just the funerary formula and a person’s name). Impress your friends! And impress the actual Egyptologists by not reading Wallis Budge; he is a hack and his books are useless. Even the Stargate movie knows that. 

If I recall correctly, most biblical scholars believe that if there were a forbidden fruit, it was a fig and not an apple.

**Chapter 2**

Some mistakes unintentionally lead us to good places.

There is a small model courtyard in the Middle Kingdom tomb of Meketre. Later period, I know, but I checked floor plans of Old Kingdom palaces and houses first to see if courtyards would be appropriate.  
https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/544256  
Lots more pictures here (watch out, it’s a huge PDF file): https://www.brown.edu/Departments/Joukowsky_Institute/courses/egyptianartandarch11/files/15850655.pdf

Egyptian women are often depicted in banquet art wearing perfume cones on their heads. Various readings seem to suggest that it was either made of animal fat, wax, or even shea butter. https://www.fashionologiahistoriana.com/costume-history-legends-essays-in-english/perfume-cone-the-mysterious-fashion-accessory-of-ancient-egypt

Since this story happens prior to the Epic of Gilgamesh story, we now know that Aziraphale remembers Crowley's perfume very well. In the Epic of Gilgamesh story set about 200 years later, I’ve been using myrrh and roses for Crowley, and Egyptian lavender for Aziraphale.

Much of the imagery of humans as clay, Death as a slaver, “the road whose journey has no return”, and “captives of the House of Darkness” come from Mesopotamian imagery, notably the Descent of Ishtar.

“In the desert by the early grass” is a Mesopotamian lament of the same name.

Why did six months of training drag to 14 times longer than it should have been? Because Aziraphale struggled hard against reprogramming and was forced to stay longer.

I have some more ideas on the toll that 'ideological training' takes on Aziraphale. More on that in the next story.

When we first see Crowley and Aziraphale a thousand years after the Garden of Eden, I wondered why Crowley brought up the sword. At first it seemed like they hadn't met in a thousand years, but that didn't seem possible to me, so I thought, what if Crowley is lowkey trying to drag Aziraphale over giving the humans the Sword of War.

Just as I can't imagine Aziraphale not trying to get the sword back for various reasons. He's too responsible to shrug it off that easily. Insert hijinks as Aziraphale tries to get his sword back from War.

The Song of the Harper is an actual song from Ancient Egypt. The translation comes from Everyday Life in Ancient Egypt by Jon Manchip White ( https://tinyurl.com/y3r5ye9u ) and is also quoted in Eugen Weber's The Western Tradition video series. Note that this is just one particular song of the harper – there are many more because it is a genre attested in funerary depictions in Egypt. I also used this in another story in the series, the one about The Epic of Gilgamesh. 

I have a much sadder, more serious draft of this second chapter saved on my computer. This story was originally just a short snippet that was made up of these first two chapters, and was more serious in tone.

I don’t know if Egyptian harps had gut strings; it’s a reasoned guess. 

**Chapter 3**

This chapter is supposed to start a moment after the scene in the Episode 3 ends.

The Sumerians called their land, “the land of the black-headed people”. 

These are the four variants of the flood myth I read for this story: Noah (Biblical), Atrahasis (Babylonian), Ziusudra (Sumerian), and Utnapishtim (Akkadian/Old Babylonian, Tablet XI of the Epic of Gilgamesh). The story follows more the Biblical and Babylonian versions.

“Reed house, reed house! Wall, wall! Pay attention to all my words...” shows up in various translations of the Epic of Gilgamesh as well as the Babylonian flood myth.

Extra long sleeves to distinguish the higher-ranked demons/angels from the lower-ranked. This is an intentional anachronism; it’s the celestial/occult, so they can do what they want.

Prior to the Iron Age, iron mostly came from extraterrestrial sources (i.e. meteorites, not aliens) and was worth more than gold by weight. 

Mistakes were made! I wrote meteoritic in my first draft and fixed it to meteoric, but during the writing of this chapter Open Office crashed about a hundred times so that I lost many edits that I can’t necessarily recreate. Last night I noticed it was meteoritic on the AO3 copy but have since fixed it. This was a really hard chapter to write not just because of evolving ideas but also because of technical difficulties. Thankfully I’ve switched to Libre Office. It’s so weird, Open Office was stable and wonderful for years, but then suddenly...crash and burn. A bit more on this later.

I realized that after I wrote this bit about Beelzebub’s crown that Beelzebub's throne in episode 6 has similar horns. Anyhow, a rough idea for the crown came from https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/2007.280/ though I imagine Beelzebub's crown is shaped differently. In this time and throughout antiquity even into Hellenistic times, horns were associated with divinity in the ancient near east. For example, in coins cast during Alexander the Great's time, Alexander was depicted with ram's horns. I had thought of a little jokey scene:

Adam Young: If you're a demon, why don't you have horns?  
Crowley: What do I look like, a Mesopotamian god-king trying to show off my supposed divinity? The nerve of these kids. Go learn your history; only dumb human rulers who think they're better than death wear horns.

Even though I think Crowley can make dramatic lightning timed to his words, I doubt he could cause an earthquake. And I am also skeptical about his ability to make fire supernaturally appear from the ground. He can definitely snek though. 

Prostration seems to be pretty common in the near east for gods and god-like kings. It’s still practiced today in many religious communities.

The type of community that Beelzebub and Crowley visit is known culturally as the Marsh Arabs, who suffered the loss of much of their traditional marshy homeland under Saddam Hussein, who ordered the destruction and filling of the marshes. Traditionally, many scholars believed that the Marsh Arabs are descendants of the Sumerians, and that their homes, which look like inverted boats, would have been what Noah's Ark was built like; an inverted home. Thus, the wall of the house calling out to Atrahasis (or whatever he’s called).

In the book, Beelzebub addresses Crowley in the same manner, with the second person singular informal (thee/thou/thy). I chose to go follow this style at this time in history because it shows how much higher ranked Beelzebub is than Crowley. Probably after a couple thousand years of getting commendations and with changing social mores in the human world, lower ranked demons no longer have to prostrate themselves and Beelzebub deigns to address Crowley in the formal. Now this makes me wonder: just before Satan appears in Episode 6 and Crowley falls to the ground, as if glued there, is this some sort of forced prostration before the emperor of the demons?

As a note, 'thee/thou' etc is informal and 'you/yours' etc is formal. This is equivalent to the French tu/vous dichotomy, the Spanish tú/Usted or the German du/Sie, but in English. So one would talk to a child, a dog, a close friend, a social inferior, and God, etc. with the thee/thou form, whereas other people of equal or higher rank or strangers are addressed as 'you'. It's complicated and varies from language to language over time and place.

Hopefully I fixed all the grammar. I had to use https://www.gutenberg.org/files/15097/15097-h/15097-h.htm to figure out how to conjugate some of the second person singular informal. Originally I wrote it as “you” but part way through decided to align it more like the book for the reasons noted above.

I tried to align the spellings for Beelzebub's speech along the same style as the book, but at the same time preserving some of the same style of the actor in the tv series. Beelzebalancing act!

This early in the history, we don’t have the Christian concepts of Heaven and Hell as places where people go after death. Works such as The Descent of Ishtar give some ideas of how the land of the dead was depicted but again, it varies from time and place and people. But I think it makes sense why Heaven is so empty and we never see dead people, just angels and demons, if most everyone just goes to the land of the dead, something like Hades or Sheol, and that’s it. 

**Chapter 4**

I think Hell is not worried at all about interfering with bodily autonomy, whereas Heaven will pressure one into changing themselves and call it free will. Think of the contrast of Hastur taking Crowley’s glasses, and Gabriel pressuring Aziraphale to lose weight. Or the idea that only demons are okay with possession but angels are not. Good Omens is pretty clever in this; you can find some examples of this in the biblical canon, such as Abraham sacrificing Isaac at God’s command. Heaven could easily take Isaac if they wanted to (see: Job), but no, it’s really up to Abraham’s free will…

The world (and its weather) affects Crowley and Aziraphale a lot more than it does the others. However it will start to affect the others more over time, such as in their clothing, and by the modern day the wind even musses Gabriel’s hair (he probably hates that). 

It crossed my mind that perhaps the reason Crowley thinks that “For my money, the really big one is all of us against all of them” is because of the Flood. I think that even though both sides needle each other over and congratulate themselves over who’s to blame, there is an implicit suggestion that both Heaven and Hell are standing together against humanity with an event like the Flood.

Good Omens agrees with scholars in that the Flood is not global but confined to the Tigris-Euphrates river valley. 

Anachronism time! The word “duke” comes from the Latin dux, which means a leader, which wasn’t in use until the medieval. There is no Latin at this time, that would be a lot later. Also, for that matter, Princes and Principalities are definitely medieval titles too (also from Latin).

Of course the angels have the other best seats in the house.

In Genesis 3:24, the angel guarding Eden is described as a cherubim (Aziraphale, is that you?). It could easily be someone else since it’s mentioned after the forbidden fruit was eaten, but I’m choosing to interpret this as an Aziraphale reference.

In ancient Sumer, low-ranked people wore shorter skirts and higher ranked ones wore long floor-length skirts. More here: https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/sumerian/.

Can’t understate the importance of accounting. In Mesopotamia, it’s what led to writing. Accounting has always been important, even in pre-literate or non-literate societies. For example: https://sites.utexas.edu/dsb/tokens/tokens/ and https://www.maa.org/press/periodicals/convergence/the-quipu This sort of rudimentary accounting made it up into the early 1800s: https://www.bbc.com/news/business-40189959

**Chapter 5**

Just like the Mesopotamians, there is a lot written about Egyptians, bread, and beer, where the beer was made from the bread. As I recall, it was because the beer was fairly high in protein, which the average Egyptian peasant might not get much of without beer. Like Mesopotamia, the beer was sipped through straws to filter out the chunky porridge-y bits.

I have been using a cross between Jewish and Christian angel hierarchies (Jewish for the upper ranks, Christian for the lower). Specifically here, I used the hierarchy from the Mishneh Torah by Maimonides. Elohim is also another name for God. 

Anachronism! People didn’t know about bacteria until the Early Modern Period. But probably angels do? Probably.

“Striding forth boldly like a god” is a line that comes from ancient Egyptian literature, but I don’t remember what, I just remember reading it somewhere. At a guess it might come from one of the Miriam Lichtheim Ancient Egyptian Literature books, but I don’t remember which one (and I can’t seem to find my copies). 

Crowley is wearing the same collar as he did in the opening chapter. 

There is a link between this story and the Epic of Gilgamesh in terms of Crowley’s preferred perfume.

The Talmud refers to 36 secret saints of the world, essentially righteous people that are so good that their existence justifies God from destroying humanity. They're known as the Tzadikim Nistarim or Lamed Vav Tzadikim. 

It’s obviously not called Mongolia yet, or Wales for that matter. 

I had a thought that outside of being ordered to do miracles, they can’t do quite as much as they’d like to (thus Aziraphale getting written up around the time of the French Revolution). So if Aziraphale’s called to say, do a miracle in South Africa but then is immediately called to Iceland, he can easily miracle himself over. But if he wants to go to India after that for a crispy samosa...better arrange your own transport, Aziraphale; ain’t no one approving that expenditure. 

**Chapter 6**

This chapter took 2 hours to format correctly on AO3 and apparently it still doesn’t like viewing properly on some e-readers. Sigh. I took some pains to try to make each paragraph in each row about the same length (it looks perfect on my word processing document but still needed editing after an ao3 posting and after all that I didn’t try to deal with cell phone screen size, sorry guys). Fighting the formatting on this chapter required me to dump Open Office and switch to Libre Office because the program repeatedly crashed. 

I actually lost the first draft of this chapter because of an Open Office crash, and had to rebuild three sections on both sides from memory. That was not a good day, and I still think some of that first draft might have been better than what we’re left with (In Xanadu did Kubla Khan/A stately pleasure-dome decree...). Oh well!

For those of you writing your own stories on AO3, this was useful if you want to do your own columns: https://www.w3schools.com/tags/att_tbody_align.asp If you want the specific html code that I used for formatting purposes, feel free to email me at evilasiangenius at gmail dot com and I’ll send you a copy.

For this chapter, I used mostly these two sources for things that happened during 3000 B.C.E.:  
https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/acref/9780191735363.timeline.0001  
https://web.stanford.edu/~meehan/donnellyr/3000bc.html and maybe one or two things from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/30th_century_BC 

From here I’ll be going in order, left to right, one row at a time. Notice that Crowley is still to the left of Aziraphale, on the sinister side...

The ancient Egyptians were one of the first to formalize a calendar. 

Egypt had some brisk trade with Mesopotamia and the Levant for many thousands of years.

Crete already had people living there; they just hadn’t put together cities yet.

Crowley is in Central Asia helping people tame horses.

Aziraphale helped found Troy. I don’t know what side was responsible for its destruction.

I have this image of Crowley dumping cooking oil in a miraculous hole in the ground, sticking a bit of cloth to it, and setting it on fire like a lamp. No infernal hellfire, just ordinary demon pranks.

Originally I only had three of these little mini-stories, but as I worked on the story and edited it, it started ballooning up as I realized how important the miracle year would be. I wrote a 10th one that I thought might make a nice middle story, but edited it out because I prefer the idea of Aziraphale and Crowley working independently. Why 9 stories? 10 seemed too complete, and there is a lot of symbolic significance to the number 9 (significance varies). Also I wanted a central story row where they are looking for each other. With 9 stories that works out to be the 5th row. 

Here’s the 10th omitted story: “The radiance of the two angels was terrifying, overwhelming all mortals who stood in awe. The angel in white spoke first. “Oh, quite terribly sorry. Didn’t mean to give everyone a scare, we were just conferring.” “Mm-hmm, conferring,” said the angel in black. And the angel in white then spoke, “All right, maybe this is a bad idea to try to work together. Let’s keep going on our own ways. Which way were you headed?” “South,” the angel in white said. “Drat, fine. I’ll head east,” said the angel in black. “See you in a few months.” 

The imagery of “radiance is terrifying”. “overwhelms all”, and “stands in awe” comes from Mesopotamian literature, specifically the Tukulti-Ninurta Epic.

I intentionally made some of the pronouns confusing or unclear at parts to replicate the style of ancient writing. Did Crowley or Aziraphale cure your depression and/or cancer and/or free the slaves? It’s unclear.

Papyrus was used in Egypt starting about this time. It’s partially why we don’t have a lot of good records since papyrus burns (see: the Nag Hammadi Library where part of it was burned for fuel in modern times and we will never know where Jesus kissed Mary Magdalene), whereas when clay tablets are exposed to fire, they just turn into harder and more durable records.

Crowley is definitely getting a little mischievous here with the wild ass.

Aziraphale’s definitely at the work site of the future Stonehenge.

There’s a reference on Wiki to a lot of burials happening at the Hill of Tara at this time, and I’m just making up a plague to account for the lots of burials. Frankly, given the state of the ancient cheese, a plague could probably be anything from severe food poisoning up to some serious disease. 

The penultimate story is probably in Egypt. 

This last story is technically from ancient Mesopotamia, but let’s just pretend that it’s a part of ancient Mesopotamia that isn’t being destroyed down to the bacteria. 

A note that I forgot to include in the last chapter of the last story and will post here: Why 60 or 3600 (60 squared)? Because the Sumerians used a base-60 number system which is very useful for divisibility since 60 is divisible by 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 10, 12, 15, 20, 30. This was later inherited by the Babylonians and then transmitted to the Greeks. It's why there are 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour and 360 degrees in a circle. More here: https://www.storyofmathematics.com/sumerian.html 

I can’t help but make math jokes. 

**Chapter 7**

From conversations with sigmastolen: “Also, I was just thinking that I bet ancient Egypt was a&c's favorite place to visit because so little changed. It's probably soothing to visit a place that is so culturally stable that your clothes never go out of style there and most everything generally looks as you remember it.”

Aziraphale’s brunch comes from the same source as the above source about triangular bread (same tomb, lots of other food).

Nabk berries also come from the same source as above. While researching there are two candidates for what it could be, and I’m choosing to use Ziziphus spina-christi, or “Christ's thorn jujube” for obvious reasons.

The nabk berry bowl: http://www.aeraweb.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/egyptian-pottery-v2.pdf page 50.

I like to think Aziraphale has a lovely singing voice with a massive range, given what cherubim are supposed to be doing with their time.

One of these images of a lovely world is the poppy superbloom in California’s high desert. 

It occurs to me that a Principality and a demon also have some hierarchical barriers to cross, in addition to the obvious Heaven/Hell dichotomy.

**Chapter 8**

The smoke is from the burnt offerings.

A finger is an ancient Mesopotamian unit of measure: http://www.mesopotamia.co.uk/staff/resources/background/bg35/home.html

The sheepskin clothing was called kaunakes by the Greeks. You can read more about it here: https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/kaunakes/ This would have been more period-accurate attire than the clothes seen in Episode 3.

I am choosing to interpret the “Freddie Mercury” voice in Episode 1 as Asmodeus.

The flies and maggots are supplied by Hell and are not of this earth. So literally, no living things.

Which by the way, notice that Aziraphale and Crowley refer to living beings but characters like Gabriel refer to them as living things.

Here is the original line that I based this image of the angels (fallen and otherwise) approaching the altar:“[The gods sniffed] the savor. They were gathered [like flies] around the offering.” The Story of the Flood, Tablet III, From Distant Days: Myths, Tales, and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia by Benjamin R. Foster.

**Chapter 9**

There is a lot of irony in the fact that the demons and angels think they don’t change, but obviously they can’t help the world affecting them, more and more so as time goes on. It made me wonder if this is in part why Armageddon is seen to be so desirable: fear. The fear of changing with the human world, and if we could just destroy it and go back to the blissful perfection of eternity, wouldn’t it all be for the better?

I borrowed a few lines of Beelzebub’s lines from the Babylonian story of the flood. Here are the originals (From Distant Days: Myths, Tales, and Poetry of Ancient Mesopotamia by Benjamin R. Foster), spoken by the goddess Nintu ( http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/amgg/listofdeities/mothergoddess/index.html ):

_Nintu, the great lady, gnawed her lips in agony. The Anunna, the great gods, were sitting in thirst and hunger. The goddess saw it, weeping. The midwife of the gods, the wise Mami (said),“Let the day grow dark, let it turn back to gloom! In the assembly of the gods, how did I agree with them on annihilation? Was Enlil so strong that he forced [me] to speak...My offspring – with no help from me – have become like flies. And as for me, how to dwell in (this) abode of grief, my clamor fallen silent? Shall I go up to heaven, as if to live in a house of [plentiful store]s? Where has Anu gone to, the chief decision-maker, whose sons, the gods, heeded his command? He who irrationally brought about the flood, and relegated the peoples to ca[tastrophe]?_

Then later in the story: _Nin[tu] arose to rail against all of them, “Where has Anu come to, the chief descision-maker? Has Enlil drawn nigh the incense? They who irrationally brought about the flood, and relegated the peoples to catastrophe? You resolved upon annihilation, so now (the people’s) clear countenances are turned grim.”_

I always felt like the Babylonian flood story is much more compassionate to people; the gods are agonized by their decision; they weep and tear their hair, they mourn. They’re hungry and thirsty without humans feeding them in their temples. The gods realized they made a terrible decision and regret it.

I borrowed the idea of the angels having an Assembly of Heaven from the Babylonian myth. Also I think Gabriel and other angels on the Assembly had a lot more say in deciding on the Flood in the Assembly than they're willing to say in public.

“Let [these flies] be jewelry around my neck, that I may remember it [every?] day [and forever?].” I think this line is what inspired writing this story and including the forces of Hell.

While chatting with Elinekeit I realized I used the word “smoke” a few times in this paragraph about Beelzebub receiving the necklace. Then the following conversation happened:

eag: Oh crap, I used the word smoke too many times.  
elinekeit: 420 blaze it  
eag: *singing* I was gonna rule the Earth, but then I got high. I was gonna get up, out of Hell, but then I got high...

The New Oxford Annotated Bibles notes that the Covenant “includes all human and non-human creatures under divine promise and law” and notes that “the principle is reverence for life.” And I quote directly, including the editors’ italics: “This is an ecological covenant, for it is made with _every living creature_ , including birds and animals, and with _the earth_ itself.”

Oxford Annotated also says, “Ancients imagined the rainbow as the weapon (bow) of the Divine Warrior from which the lightnings of arrows were shot. The placement of this weapon in the heavens is a _sign_ or visible token, that God’s wrath has abated.”

**Chapter 10**

I found a piece of an early draft of the business with the lotuses, which really proves the importance of editing because it is just awful and awkward. Went through some pretty heavy editing to make it read better. Honestly it could probably still be improved, but after some point it just needs to be let go:

_Crawley mussed hands through dark copper hair hair and a last blue lotus fell into the water, bruised and forgotten. Aziraphale set down the heavy wig that the angel had been carrying and a white lotus slipped out of the wig onto the ground.  
Crawley picked it up and handed it back to the angel, who tucked it behind one ear._

Crowley refers to the Dark Council when he’s facing down Hastur in that holy water showdown in Episode 4.

Not completely related, but here’s an interesting article I read about whales a few months ago: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science/talking-to-whales-180968698/

Hopefully there aren’t too many inconsistencies between the existing stories, this one and the one about the Epic of Gilgamesh. Part of what’s interesting to me about writing is slowly figuring out the bigger arcs of the narrative and the character development as one goes along. Three stories in and I’m starting to get the hang of it. Third story coming soon. Here’s a hint: 41 A.D.


End file.
